Origins
by Golden Solidus
Summary: The Order of the Phoenix was not always a group seeking to stop the rise of dark wizards. In its beginnings, it was a secret organization for magical folk shunned by society for who they love. Strong ADMM friendship. Semi-canon. Reviews always appreciated
1. Prologue: 1951

**Prologue: 1951**

Minerva McGonagall was not known as a nervous person. She struck an intimidating figure at an impressive 5'7" with sharp green eyes and long dark hair pulled back meticulously into a single braid. Rare intelligence and wit flowed from her lips constantly and her reputation as a prudish, studious Head Girl balanced evenly with a fanatical devotion to Quidditch and honed raw talent as a senior Chaser. Her athletic involvement had created the circumstances that had led to her current predicament, namely standing awkwardly in the Transfiguration Professor's office at two o' clock on a Saturday afternoon.

His auburn tangle covered back obstinately faced her. The room ran cold. But Minerva was not a Gryffindor for nothing. Despite inwardly quaking with anxiety, she projected a steady mask of calm self-righteousness. "How long have you…?" His words were barely a whisper trickling across, a sheen upon the ripple of tension enveloping the small office. Neither moved, keeping the balance of power from sliding. "What is my punishment, sir?" Finally, he turned to face her. The eyes were what she noticed immediately, and though they met her gaze, they were closed off to her. Minerva had been his student for several years, and she liked to think she could read him pretty well. Especially after becoming a prefect, and then Head Girl, and studying with him individually to become an Animagus for the past several months, she had begun to understand what certain gestures and other body language meant. The trademark twinkle in his eyes was her favorite sign to observe, indicative of contentment and usually an amused countenance.

But now there was nothing. He was a blank mask, and the complete uncertainty of anything going on inside his head frightened her far more than the possibility of any of the consequences of being caught inside the broom shed kissing the Ravenclaw keeper. "You must take heed, Miss McGonagall. You have much to lose. Please, go back to your common room". He nodded towards the door, a sign of her dismissal.

Minerva was completely dumbfounded. His words were guarded, cryptic, and illogical. She stood her ground. "Why are you letting me go with nothing? I heard what happened to Brénainn Ó Dubhthaigh and Cathal Mac Gowan as a third year. Why aren't you telling me that I am sick, and taking away my position of authority at the very least? I knew what I was risking. Any other teacher would be punitive. What makes you so different?" Dumbledore was silent, betraying nothing. But as her last word fell, a flicker of something passed through his eyes, a something immediately familiar and painful. Minerva struggled to keep her emotions in check. "Are you one of us, sir?"

An ink well on his desk burst, spreading dark essences everywhere. And suddenly there was an absolute explosion of feeling from him- the raw agony in his shaking hands and trembling lips nearly brought her to her knees. She could no longer control the tears which burst forth from her, all the masks and facades laid bare. "Well," she choked, "at least I know I'm not alone". With that she fled, leaving a storm of long dormant turmoil and repressed memories crumbling in her wake.


	2. Sunrise, Sunset: April through June 1960

**Chapter One: April 1960**

"I grow weary, Albus. The time has come for my retirement." Armando Dippet's declaration was one long expected by his deputy. Albus had watched the once indomitable headmaster struggle during the wartime, only to have Slytherin's essence released five years later and the blood of an innocent girl marring the school to the brink of closure. For a good decade now, there had been relative calm in the wizarding world, but the scars from those troubled times never faded. Armando's hair and countenance had fizzled to a grisly gray over the years, and his body was weak and frail. He deserved to live out the last of his days in peace and relaxation, and the current calm would allow him that luxury. "I know you have doubtlessly given this matter much thought, and now the hour has arrived in which I must ask you. Albus, will you succeed me as Headmaster of Hogwarts?"

The two men faced each other directly. Albus was already an aging wizard, flecks of silver trickling through his auburn mane. But his power and skill were legendary, as was his commitment to the school. He knew that here he could do great good without ever being tempted by the sheer lust for control which had destroyed the other. Albus' eyes clouded over momentarily. Then he nodded. "It would be an honor for me to lead this institution into the future." Armando sighed in relief. "Thank goodness. I did not know who else I would turn to upon your refusal. I fear that storms are coming again. Only one who has faced evil before will be ready to uphold the school through new shadows. I will rest easily knowing that the future of Britain's wizarding youth is in your hands. If you'll excuse me Albus, I must go owl the Prophet and the governors of my decision." As the headmaster walked away, he left the Transfiguration professor unmoving, utterly immersed in his own thoughts.

Two Months Later:

Albus Dumbledore sat at the Headmaster's desk, answering correspondence and simultaneously grading Transfiguration finals and inspecting House behavioral reports. Ever since his approval by the school governors several weeks prior, Albus gradually had been delegated more and more of Armando's responsibilities as a way of easing him into the position.

The problem with this approach was at the current time Albus still held all of his old positions as Professor, Head of House, and Deputy Headmaster. Although extraordinarily adept at juggling a multitude of tasks, he was forced to admit that he was currently biting off more than even he could chew. A replacement for each of his roles could not come fast enough. Therein lay the problem. He would likely have to appoint a different person to each of his three former titles. Finding a new Transfiguration professor would require intensive vetting of any potential candidates. Transfiguration was an intensely challenging area of magic, and in order to teach it, one had to be at least a First Degree Master. This narrowed the field of candidates down to a very select community of elite intellectuals.

There were five degrees of mastery of Transfiguration. Worldwide there were about 100 First Degree Masters. With each degree, the number of wizards and witches dwindled exponentially lower. Only Merlin himself had ever reached the elusive Fifth Degree. Albus was a Third Degree Master, and had been able to bring his advanced theoretical knowledge of the subject into the practical application of Elementary Transfiguration with his students. He disliked the idea of having his students lose the advantage his superior credentials had been able to give them because their new teacher had only mastered the First Degree. But beyond skill in the discipline was the need for ability as a teacher. Albus understood that it was crucial for a professor to connect with the students- to be able to explain the concepts in a way that they could understand them, and to have the motivation to see the future generation succeed. In other words, he needed a master and a mentor rolled into one.

Hiring new professors was always a challenge, and likely would be settled just in the knick of time before the fall term began. Meanwhile, he had to fill his position as head of Gryffindor House, a promotion that almost always came from within the current staff. However, there were only two other Gryffindors currently teaching at Hogwarts; Herbology Professor Agnes Smythe and Flying Instructor Petruchio Williamsburg. Professor Smythe would not fit as her position required that she live near the greenhouses and Professor Williamsburg was so old and wizened that he would likely retire within the next two years if he didn't fall off his broom first. The situation seemed grim.

But nothing troubled Albus more that than his third task- naming his own Deputy. A good working relationship between the Deputy and the Headmaster was critical to the proper running of the school. In times of crisis, the two had to be able to trust each other with information that could determine the continuity of Hogwarts itself. Albus remembered well many late night conversations with Armando during the Chamber's opening ten years ago. His and Armando's mutual trust and ability to work jointly to protect students had saved lives. Albus could feel the dark tendrils threatening the relative peace of the school once again. And yet- there was no one on the staff he knew he could not only work with, but trust his life with if need be. Albus rested his face in his hands. Trust involved openness. He'd been open with Armando- to a certain point.

Ever since childhood he'd learned to hold certain things back, only showing each person a different snapshot of himself as he saw fit. But the skeletons of his youth and all the emotions rattling in their bones were buried from the entire world, never even glanced upon by the light of day. How could he choose someone whom he absolutely needed to trust, when there was never anyone who'd he'd let himself confide in his whole life? It was in moments of despair and frustration such as these that Albus recognized what a lonely man he was.

He shook himself slightly. There was no time for these futile reflections with all the work that had to be done. He marked a half dozen more essays, made a note to have the house elves scan the Common Room for contraband on a tip, and then turned back to the letters addressed to him. His owl post had increased threefold upon the Prophet's announcement of the Transfiguration Professor's post opening. Most of the applicants he barely had to examine before addressing the standard letter declining their candidacy. Perhaps today would be different. He reached for the next letter. The tight, precise scrawl seemed oddly familiar. Intrigued, he adjusted his glasses and peered closer. Upon reading the name, he instantly froze. _Minerva McGonagall._


End file.
